Coming Home to You
by primavera
Summary: He was in a balancing act trying to figure out the lesser of two evils. Either way he was a loser. slash.


AN: Back from long time hiatus and starting under a new name. Not new to writing, but just to the Newsie genre, I have to say I admire a good chunk of the writers. I'm just glad I get to try my hand with this. Just to make this very clear, disclaimers are a given. This piece is very much an AU. In a future setting where you have rational!Spot. Any offensive language is there to flow with the story.  
  
Coming Home to You  
  
He honestly didn't think it would come down to this. Months beforehand, it was all talk about this new movement sweeping across the nation. Just talk about the things they did to people, and he didn't think he'd get wrapped up in it. Not because he was too strong a person, but Sean Conlon didn't concern himself with these types of issues. But next thing he knew he was apart of the youth group and his lover was gone. His mother had always told him to be careful of what he loved and what he abused. Now he was in a balancing act trying to figure out the lesser of two evils. Either way he was a loser.   
  
"Hiya Spot!." Spot frowned and flipped around to his left.  
  
"You know I hate that name."  
  
"But I love calling you that so much." Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins pinched his cheeks.  
  
"Alright Racetrack."  
  
"Asshole."   
  
Race rolled his eyes and pulled out a neon green sheet of paper from his back pocket. Spot stared at the bright color and cocked his head to the side, "Are you serious?"  
  
"Do I look like I'm screwing around? Don't be dumb."  
  
"It's a gay club though."  
  
"And you're gay."  
  
Spot felt his stomach coil up into a tight ball. Yes, he was gay, but a closeted gay. Personally he liked it to stick that way. There was something unsettling about people you knew for years not knowing, but complete strangers being able to line up to get in your pants, a la alcohol. "I don't know, what's the point?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sure dancing and drinking the night away with your boyfriend counts for something." Race shoved his shoulder as if he was suppose to know that gay bars were mostly meant for couples, which he really didn't think they were.  
  
"Well Race, if you think we should attend, then I guess we should. Wouldn't want all those beautiful boys to miss a chance to flirt with us now." Spot smirked. He may have been closeted, but that didn't mean he lost his confidence.  
  
"Good, we leave at 9."  
  
The two arrived at the club later than expected; strutting to the bar they flashed their fake ID's and sipped on their drinks. The music was tearing its way through the speakers on either side of the room. It was almost a violent sound with the whirlwind of sharp notes bouncing off the walls. Spot felt dizzy but managed not to disappoint Race when he pulled Spot off his chair to dance. Race had an arm thrown around his waist, cradling his body and grinded into his thigh. That had gotten Spot's mind off the buzzing of his drink, as he started to look around. There had to be a good hundred and something men and boys crammed onto the dance floor. Spot wondered if anyone here recognized him.  
  
Leaning into his dark haired boyfriend, Spot forgot about the men around him and his uneasiness and his drink. He could feel Race's lean body and the light scent of after shave and cigars. That's all he really needed at that point, but if ever asked, he'd lie right through his teeth and tell the person that Race was a good lay. Because boys like him didn't get soft or over-sentimental. They were tough and they danced like they were sex. But because the lights were off and candy colored flashes landed around them, Spot found it ok to let go of his badass attitude. He felt himself warmed and supported.  
  
BANG. Lights came on. The room was now naked with normal looking people shoulder to shoulder, and a dozen or so men walked in. Spot wasn't alarmed until he saw the guns. Big, muscular men decked out in black jumpsuits with guns. He started to think they almost looked official, but it was thrown off when one solid blond grabbed a beer from a table and took a long swig.  
  
The leader stepped forward, his jumpsuit had more patches than the other men. Spot could see the wheels turning in Race's head, he was probably checking out the young guy a few feet away from him, thinking how he loved a man in uniform. And on cue, Race leaned over to whisper, "I just love a man in uniform."  
  
Spot smirked, but remained where he was. The leader glared at everyone in the club, his hard eyes cutting through each male, as if they were all bugs. Finally after a long, hard stare, the leader spoke, "This is the start of something new. Every man in here will come forward to the front doors and register himself. If you try to run, we'll hunt you down and beat the shit out of you like the dirty fags you are."  
  
A few gasped, an outraged cry or two. But someone in the crowd cleared their throat and began to speak, which was the most surprising, "What is with the registration? Is everyone doing this?"  
  
A couple of the men with guns snickered, the leader took a deep breath, "No, just the homo population. You need to be registered for identification."  
  
Another voice shouted out, "Why?"  
  
"None of your goddamn business." The leader growled.  
  
"Then why do it at all?" Race had yelled out. Spot's head swiveled quickly, staring at his boyfriend.  
  
"Shut up, Tony!" Spot hissed.  
  
"Then you will be found and charged." The twelve men sneered and laughed at this.  
  
A few more questions rose, but with no answers. Spot felt panicked, they couldn't do this to him. The one time he listened to Race and he ended up in the worse situation possible. He wanted out, now. With his stomach churning a mile a minute and his heart pounding radically, he felt as if he was going to pass out. He turned to his boyfriend, traces of fear pooling in his eyes, "Do you think we can get out of this?"  
  
Race laughed and shrugged, "It's not so bad. Just a couple stupid questions. We'll get home." With that Race squeezed Spot's hand. Yeah, there was the 'don't be a stereotypical pussy' rule, but this was scary. And during scary times, Spot was glad he had Race attached safely to his side. Just in case monsters were real, and they wanted to take Spot with them.  
  
Soon enough they made their way to the front of the line. Two guys were taking down information, each on either side of the door. One guy was tall with a red bandana tied around his wrist, he sneered at Race. The other had soft blue eyes and smiled sadly at Spot. Immediately the tall one started to throw out questions. Race, being Race, flicked his shiny silver badge that said Kelly.  
  
"So, Kelly, is it? You want to know where I live? Why, ya have something special for me in mind?" Race wiggled his eyebrows.  
  
Officer Kelly punched Race in the stomach, Spot in a hurry, knelt down to help him. Race was sprawled in Spot's lap panting at the intensity of the punch. He whistled hoarsely and gave a faint smile up to Spot. Spot glared up at Kelly. Blue Eyes was shaking Kelly's shoulder, yelling at him about politeness. Spot thought it was really late in the game to be concerned with being polite.  
  
"I'm really sorry about that." Blue Eyes helped Spot and Race up.

"Shut up Davey, the fag was mouthin' off to me." Kelly spit on the ground near Race's feet.  
  
"Listen, just leave your name and address, everything will be ok from there." David said.  
  
"Oh I bet. Ass over here doesn't grasp jokes very well." Race snapped, clutching his stomach.  
  
Kelly took a step forward, ready to hit Race again, but David stopped him, "Jack! Cut it out! We have a job to do."  
  
Jack stared angrily as Race gave him a cheeky smile, "Good dog." Race cooed.  
  
David interrupted, "Your names?"  
  
"Sean Conlon and Tony Higgins." Spot said.  
  
"Where do you live?"  
  
"I live at 422 Kensington, Tony's at 568 Addison."  
  
"How old are you?" Davey was checking off boxes and scribbling on small lines, not looking up once.  
  
Spot hesitated, not really wanting to be honest, especially since they had a few drinks, "Both 21, how's that?" Race butted in. Spot looked at him appreciatively, Race was good at lying. 

"Alright, thank you." David nodded.  
  
"Um, David...mister, what is happening?" Spot whispered.  
  
Blue Eyes looked in his eyes this time, "I really don't know."  
  
Spot nodded and started to walk away, tugging on the hem of Race's shirt. Race stumbled after him, turning around for his goodbye to Officer Jack Kelly, "Ciao asshole!" Race had his middle finger up and proudly waved it at the Officers. Spot rolled his eyes and made his way to the car.


End file.
